


2 shots for Lady Nina

by wonderwanda



Category: The Good Wife (TV)
Genre: F/F, Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 13:46:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3898543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderwanda/pseuds/wonderwanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kalinda ponders her complicated and dissolving relationship with Alicia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	2 shots for Lady Nina

**Author's Note:**

> I sent this to schwarmerei1 on tumblr, and she asked me to post it here. Thanks so much to her for the read through!

Around the block from Kalinda’s apartment is her favorite dive in all of Chicago. Pre-war wood molding, industrial stools, and an impressive selection of whiskey. She’s by no means a regular—as she’s by no means a regular anywhere. She’s a whisper in the evening, an apparition. No one remembers her name.

Sunday evening she can’t sleep. She’s not the type for toss and turn insomnia, so she stands in her kitchen tracing patterns in the wall with her eyes. Kalinda sighs. All roads lead back to the same destination. She packs three things: stationery, her wallet, a fountain pen like the ones she used in primary school—and locks the door behind her.

As she makes a creaky entrance into the bar, she sees Sunday Joe behind the counter. He muddles citrus and cherry into the bottom of an old fashioned.  She sits at the end, on the uneven stool.

_In my solitude you haunt me, with dreadful ease of days gone by._

Sunday Joe takes her order, and tells her last call isn't far off. She tells him she wants a shot of tequila—no. Two shots of tequila.

She wonders how to display the eloquence her actions accomplish. She is decidedly not a words person, but she can feel the curl of Alicia's skin between her fingers. She dots the pen on her tongue, and tastes Alicia on her lips. Kalinda is not sure how to string these things together into words.

It is as though they hadn't only collided after Will died. It is as though they have been colliding. They are in a constant state of collision.

As the best things always do, it happens at first by accident. Alicia floats out of the bar in a cloud of grief, and straight into Kalinda's apartment. Kalinda is unsure how to proceed at first—but Alicia is decisive. She wants purpose fucked back into her life.

The following morning, Kalinda brings her coffee in bed. Alicia wraps herself in something—it isn't shame, or shock, or just Kalinda's sheets. They drink coffee and say nothing. They have toast and say nothing. Alicia kisses her goodbye and they say nothing.  

The next few months are a blur of silence. Kalinda dedicates herself to learning the intricacies of Alicia's body, pouring herself into every crack and crevice with precision. With one deliberate flick of her tongue, Kalinda could send Alicia spiraling over the edge into a pool of herself. The satisfaction of this control is enough. She doesn’t need the favor returned.

One day, the silence breaks. Alicia is astute. She’s also been studious. Between her legs, a dictionary of technique. At first, she’d been embarrassed. She’d only known how she liked to be touched, but not how to touch.

Kalinda’s surprise is pleasant. Until she’s turned on her back, Kalinda assumes Alicia thinks of Will when they are together, but now knows this is far from the case. Alicia takes the same care with Kalinda that was shown to her. She maps Kalinda’s body with her lips, ready to demonstrate the knowledge she's amassed.

Things at work have to remain professional. Only behind closed doors are they together-together. Diane and Cary must stay in the dark. At first it’s not bothersome, just precautionary. A preventative measure to stop wagging tongues. With the race looming, Alicia must end things. The slightest rumor will set her campaign ablaze.

Priorities are painful.

Kalinda knows this, but Alicia must learn.

Now she sits tapping her pen on the bar, near an empty shot glass. Thinking about when they’d sat in that same spot together, and drank, and kissed. Maybe the molding and the crooked stool weren’t Kalinda’s favorite things about this place after all?

As Nina Simone’s voice crackles through the speaker, Kalinda puts pen to paper.

_Black is the color of my true love’s hair…_

Between words, the other shot of tequila stares at her. She tries to apply the same care to her message as she would to Alicia’s collarbone. This proves difficult. She watches the drops of water dry from the side of the lime while she deliberates what to write next.

_Oh, I love my lover and well she knows._

Kalinda looks up, aching for her to stumble in.

_Yes I love the ground on where she goes._

“Last call…” Says Sunday Joe.

_And I still hope that the time will come._

She wants to watch Alicia’s face after her tongue touches the lime—watch as her lips curl around its tart insides. 

_When she and I will be as one._

Kalinda signs her name, and raises her head hopefully one last time.

The bar is empty.

_When she and I will be as one._

She takes the second shot.


End file.
